


The Day After Two Nights in Knight School

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Teenage knights making out in the bushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ballister and Ambrosius have their first date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day After Two Nights in Knight School

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Two Nights in Knight School](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113203) by [tehta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehta/pseuds/tehta). 



> 0\. This unabashedly picks up where tehta’s delightful story left off. I highly recommend you read it before you read this one, for context. All credit to the talented Noelle Stevenson as I pick up her characters and run, and to the lovely tehta, for letting me blunder on with her story!

It was both more and less terrifying than Ballister had anticipated. 

On the one hand, it seemed that the general public, milling through the festival grounds, took no notice of the monumental Change that had taken place – namely, Ambrosius at his side as. 

More than a friend. 

Even though Ballister felt sure that some of the excitement and anxiety coursing through him must be blazoned in neon lights across his face, no one looked twice at him, though at one point Ambrosius glanced up at him and said, “Oh my god, Ballister, why do you look like that? Was it the food? Was it that woman’s hideous blazer? I tried not to look too closely, but…” 

Ballister took this to mean that his face was doing the thing it did when he attempted neutrality. Namely, assuming an expression of black displeasure. While this served him well on the practice field – he already had a reputation for intimidation he was sure he hadn’t earned – it could get him in trouble at other times. He worked to rearrange his face, but realized quickly that the alternative was grinning like a loon. He resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands, and instead proceeded, carefully and serenely, trying not to notice the peeks Ambrosius was stealing at him. 

So no, he was not the object of derisive stares or jeers, and no walls came crashing down simply because he was on a date. With his best friend. His male best friend. His infuriating, irritating, beautiful male best friend. 

But on the other hand, it was more terrifying than he ever could have imagined. 

Terrifying, exhilarating, _wonderful._ Once, absently, he’d laid a light hand on the small of Ambrosius’ back as they navigated through a particularly dense part of the crowd, and he’d felt Ambrosius shiver at his touch. An electric rush of satisfaction surged through him at this, and an amazed realization: _I can have the same effect on him that he has on me_. 

Armed with this intoxicating knowledge, it was all he could do to not to find more reasons to touch Ambrosius casually as they visited various stalls and observed the musicians tuning their instruments. Each brush of their shoulders together was another little lightning bolt, and Ballister wondered absently if the voltage of sexual tension was enough to power anything. Something small, perhaps, like the device he’d made for pitting cherries. Or – 

“Ballister.” 

He started, and looked down. Ambrosius was frowning at him. “You just did that thing.” 

“What thing?” 

“That thing you do!” Ambrosius blew a strand of hair out of his face, exasperated. “Where you stop paying attention to me, and start paying attention to – to the inside of your head, or something. What could be so interesting in there?” 

“Oh, it can be interesting enough,” said Ballister, without thinking, remembering numerous times he’d drifted off in thought not about science or inventions, but about the way Ambrosius' eyes shone when he was excited, or how his bright hair fell over his shoulders, or about the way his loosely laced tunics so beautifully displayed the lines of his collarbone, or – 

“You’re doing it again.” 

Ballister pulled himself back to the present and fixed his eyes on his friend. “I am sorry.” 

“You’re supposed to pay attention to your date at times like this,” said Ambrosius, peevishly. “Honestly, Ballister, I know you’re inexperienced at these things, but I would have thought – ” 

Ballister reached down and took his hand, and Ambrosius stopped talking abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said again, sincerely. “I promise my attention is yours.” 

“Well,” said Ambrosius, and flushed a little. “Good.” 

They walked on in silence, leaving the bustle of the stalls and stages behind, making their way into the more densely wooded areas of the park. Ballister tried to focus on being casual and confident, but all he could concentrate on was the terrifying novelty of Ambrosius’ fingers twined with his. 

 _Totally normal_ , he told himself, _totally acceptable, totally not awkward… Right?_  

After a time, he became acutely aware of the silence; namely, how unusual it was. True, he was usually fairly reserved, but Ambrosius was generally more than capable of talking enough for the both of them, to the point where Ballister sometimes was tempted to clap a hand over his mouth. 

…An image that helpfully suggested any number of other situations where he might need to keep Ambrosius quiet, and Ballister spiraled into thoughts of Ambrosius, gasping under his hand, his skin flushed and hot, lips pressed to his palm… 

He shook himself violently, and turned to his friend, reaching desperately for something to talk about. “Have you noticed that–” 

“There’s a good place,” said Ambrosius, not apparently paying attention. 

“A good place for wha – _hnff_.” For Ambrosius had pushed him with surprising strength into a secluded alcove where the stone wall of the park was recessed and overgrown. 

“Ambrosius…?”

Ambrosius’ eyes were very bright, and his hands settled on Ballister’s chest as Ballister’s back was pressed against the wall. “Just like we discussed.” 

“What did we discuss?” asked Ballister, feeling unusually at sea, and very much distracted by the look in Ambrosius’ eyes and the way his hair was falling into his face. 

“Secluded nooks and crannies. Leafy areas. You know.” 

“Oh.” 

“Good for…what did you call them?” 

“I don’t know.” Ballister tried to think. “Romantic overtures?” 

“Sounds like something you’d say. Are you sure that’s not something to do with music? Whatever. I don’t care. Are you going to make them?” 

“Make what?” 

Ambrosius sighed, like he was dealing with a truly frustrating intellect. It was an eerily familiar gesture, and Ballister realized it was one of his own. “Romantic overtures.” 

“Oh. Those.” 

“I mean, I’ll make them, if you’d like me to start, but – ” 

But Ballister bent his head and pressed his lips to Ambrosius’, stilling the flow of words. 

Interesting, he thought, as he kissed his friend. If he’d thought a light touch carried enough electricity to power a small device, then a kiss like this one could surely power a … 

But then Ambrosius let out a murmur and knotted a hand in his hair, kissing him back fiercely, and every other thought went out of his head. 

His brain had never been so quiet, and so enflamed. His hands, which had been settled lightly on Ambrosius’ hips, wrapped tightly around his friend’s waist, pulling him sharply against his chest. Ambrosius swayed forward against him, one hand fisting in Ballister’s tunic, and Ballister made an embarrassing little noise of need as Ambrosius’ lips parted under his. 

Nothing had ever felt like this. Not the rush of excitement before a fight, not the flare of satisfaction at an experiment gone right. Not the fumbling, uncertain kisses he’d exchanged with Gustav in the coatroom of the opera house, not even the stolen moments of pleasure he’d indulged in, alone in his room, eyes closed in the dark, imagining… 

Nothing he’d ever fantasized about was like this. 

Hours or seconds later – Ballister was quite positive _some_ amount of time had passed, but was distinctly uninterested in the specifics – they broke apart. Ambrosius’ arms were wound around Ballister’s neck, and Ballister’s hands had slid from Ambrosius’ low back to somewhere lower and quite enjoyably firm, and Ballister made a concerted effort to move his hand somewhere more respectable. Ambrosius was staring up at him speculatively, and at last he licked his lips and spoke. 

“Well. That’s was…” he trailed off, and Ballister couldn’t help but smile at the novelty of Ambrosius lost for words. 

“New?” 

“Yes,” said Ambrosius, and tightened his arms around Ballister’s neck. “You’re very good at it. Really. I mean, you’ve always been talented, but this isn’t – I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Have you practiced much?” 

This time, Ballister wasn’t so oblivious as to miss the jealousy underlying the question (how had he been so dim for so long?), and so he kissed Ambrosius again, to dispel it. 

“I think I can improve,” he said after a long interval, and for a moment it was like when they were in the training rooms together, working to master a new weapon. “With a lot more practice. And your help.” 

Ambrosius smiled then, brilliant and beautiful, and said, “I’m always here for you, Ballister. You know that.” 

“I do now,” said Ballister, and kissed him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. When I wrote this, tehta had not yet written the actual sequel to her wonderful fic, [but it now exists and you should totally go read it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2436137/chapters/5395265), because it is superlative, and I always wibble before her writing.


End file.
